The Two Johns
by Midorima Kazunari
Summary: The joke is on Walker when he tries to trap a private investigator, a magician, a sorcerer, and a god in a cell on the occasion of the Queen's Jubilee.
This is a Crossover between The Nightside, Hellblazer, and Matthew Swift. This story was written for the "Locked in a Room" challenge on WA.

* * *

June 2012

He woke up groaning. _That's never a good sign, Taylor. What have you gotten yourself into_ this _time?"_

His eyes eventually focused on the bare flickering fluorescent bulb above his head. When it was at full-strength, it illuminated the room in a sickly glow. Between the light show and the constant buzz of the fixture, his head pounded. He rubbed his bristled chin and rolled onto his left side.

A man in a rumpled, grungy trenchcoat was crouched in front of the bars. _So, a jail cell. Wonderful._

"If you're awake, mate, I could use some help here. You know how to inscribe sigils, right? If your reputation is even half of what people say..." the man with the dirty blond hair said around the stub of a cigarette butt dangling from his lip as he looked up at him.

"What's going on? Who are you and where are we?" he asked, sitting up. His clean white trench-coat was lying on the bench, folded neatly.

"The easy answer is we are trapped in a locked room. I'm John Constantine, The Hellblazer," he stood, knocking chalk dust off his hands and onto his wrinkled black trousers.

"The Laughing Magician?" Taylor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That's one of the nicer things I'm called," he cackled, taking a drag on the cigarette and realizing it was done, he spat it on the ground. "The rest is harder to explain. What's the last thing you remember?" he asked, crouching down and taking up a stick of chalk.

"Razor Eddie and I were facing off against Jessica the Unbeliever in the Street of the Gods... after that, I've got nothing."

"Pleasant company you keep, Taylor, not that I'm much better. I was in Manchester, working a Synchronicity Wave Travelling spell with my mate, Chas," he said, scribbling on the ground with a piece of chalk, "while simultaneously opening a magic circle, and all of a sudden I was here with you and the smelly bloke in the corner." He gestured with the white stick at a man-shaped bundle of clothing wedged under a bench. The smell was epic, as if a dead body had crawled into a sewer and spoiled.

"Eddie, oy! Is that you?"

There was no response.

"I would have shaken him, but something about him says 'don't touch' if you value your hands."

"Wise idea, but it would have been your life, not your hands he would have taken. Eddie's not much on physical contact."

"You mean one of the world's biggest bogeymen isn't a cuddly teddy bear? I'm shocked," he chuckled.

"So," Taylor changed the subject before Eddie arose and took umbrage at the jokes aimed at him. "We were both fooling with things we shouldn't have."

"Story of my life, mate. The story of my bloody life," he groaned.

Taylor walked unsteadily to Constantine's side and looked at the sigil the man had managed while they'd talked. He used his second eye, his inner private eye and saw the lines of power running through the bars and walls holding them in the room.

"That won't work, you're on top of a nasty intersection of lines meant to keep us in here. Try again, forty-five centimeters to the South."

"How can you tell direction in here?" Constantine asked, his eyebrow cocked.

"It just comes with the wetware," he said, tapping his forehead. He paced off the distance and indicated a spot with the tip of his loafer.

"You wouldn't happen to have a fag on you?" Constantine asked as he shuffled over to the new spot.

Taylor shook his head. "They _offend_ Susie."

"Susie Shooter? 'Oh, Christ it's her, run!?' That Susie?"

"Who else do you think I'd worry about offending? Siouxsie and the Banshees?"

"Sorry, mate, but we all tell ghost stories about you and your lot on the Nightside to keep stupid pup magicians from going down the road paved with gold and blood."

Taylor chuckled. "Too bad you didn't follow your own advice."

"Too true, but that's not going to stop me from getting out of here. I've got people to save and cons to ruin."

Constantine turned his attention back to the sigil and spoke words of power over them. It threw off blue sparks and went dead with a gush of smoke. He coughed, falling back. "Well, that was useless. You got any ideas?"

As the smoke cleared a man with the most brilliantly blue eyes stood awkwardly on top of the sigil. He wore a second-hand suit and was barefoot. "Where are we?" he asked.

"That's the question isn't it, mate?" Constantine asked, skittering back away from the man sparking with blue electricity.

"We are not amused," his voice came like the beating of bird's wings, hushed and muffled. His wild eyes went from Constantine to Taylor to the lump under the bench then back to a point between the two men.

"Neither are we," Taylor assured him. "That wasn't a portal we opened. Do you know why we are here? We've all been kidnapped, or so it seems."

"We are very angry, then," said the man with the azure eyes.

"Yes, we are. How about we do something terrible to show our captors that it is a bad idea to make us angry," Taylor encouraged.

"Yeah, help us find a way outta this," Constantine suggested.

The man with the wild eyes moved with alarming speed toward Constantine, never touching him, but nonetheless pushing him against the wall with angry static. "We don't play well with others."

Taylor put his hands in his pockets and finding nothing, made a move for his coat, hoping against hope that something in his bag of tricks might work against this obvious Power.

"Don't, John," said a ghostly voice. Taylor smelled Eddie before he felt the light pressure of the surprisingly strong hand close around his arm. "That is the Sorcerer, Matthew Swift, the host of the Electric Blue Angels, The Midnight Mayor of London. They are not to be trifled with."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mayor, but really, we'd love your help getting out of the situation," Taylor backpedaled.

Swift's eyes turned toward Razor Eddie, he inclined his head. "We remember you, Punk God of the Straight Razor," he said and instead of a single voice, all in the room heard the multitude of angels inside the body of Matthew Swift speak, "and we acknowledge you as a disturbing force for good. We will follow your lead in this situation."

Eddie moved to an open space on the floor and brought his straight razor to hand. A small cough caught everyone's attention from the other side of the bars.

"I really rather you didn't, Eddie," Walker said, his hands clasped behind his back. "After all, I did go to a great deal of bother to round you all up."

"Who's that?" Constantine asked, "And how do I make him suffer for this?"

"Relax, that's Walker, you're out of your league, Magician."

"The Walker?" Constantine asked, leaning on the bars to get a better look at the man. "The Authority of the Nightside who has the power to make the dead speak? Oh, mate, I'd like to hire you out for some work."

"One time," Walker sighs. "Do something miraculous one time and people talk about it for decades. Do a good deed one day and people threaten to kill you."

"And what good deed do you think you're doing by keeping us in this cage?" Taylor asked, training his eye on his sometimes friend, sometimes nemesis.

"It was decided that no distractions would be tolerated for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. The three most dangerous men not invited to the festivities, it was discussed, you three notorious -"

"We are Legions," Matthew Swift corrected.

"You and your legions, were the ones the Queen least wanted to see on her special day."

"And if something... supernatural tries to crash the party?"

"The Droods and the Ghost Finders are on call."

"Eddie Drood gets to go to the party, but I don't?" Taylor asked, confused. "He's destroyed more of London than any single human in history."

"We do not like the Droods," Matthew Swift agreed. "They have hurt too many people."

"Who the bloody hell are the Droods?" Constantine asked.

"It doesn't matter, they are goody-two-shoes, who lick the right arses, and we're stuck in here, until when? The celebration is four days," Taylor demanded.

"Do you think you can keep me in here," Eddie challenged, brandishing his straight razor. "I don't think so."

The Punk God of the Straight Razor cut a line through space and time between him and the falling smile on Walker's face. On the other side, Buckingham Palace appeared in a dark gray sky.

"Gentlemen, and Angels," Taylor addressed the crowd smirking, shall we wish our Majesty the happiest of birthdays?" he asked, stepping to the other side. "I can't remember the last time I left the Nightside, but I'll make an exception to pay my respects to the Queen."

"John, you can't let him anywhere near-" Walker shouted after him, attempting to unlock the bars with nervous hands.

"I like your style, Taylor, maybe we could do some business together," Constantine said, following the other John. "I have a job -"

"No business today, Constantine, tonight we party," he called back.

"We shall be epic," Matthew Swift said as he slipped into the void. "The drinks will be on us, we have come to like you all."

As the last of the captured men walked through to the palace, Eddie closed the gate, leaving Walker standing by himself in the empty cell with only the sound of their laughter ringing in his ears.


End file.
